In my quest to unearth books published in years I’ve never read before, I keep coming up with gems. This short novel translated from Russian was first published in 1923, and I found it to be a romantic folktale on par with The Princess Bride, only without the humor.

Asole and her widowed father are social outcasts in their little village by the sea, and although their hand-carved toy boats keep money in their pockets and food on their table, there’s not much joy in their lives, save for what they can find in each other. One day, Asole sails one of her father’s carvings—a sloop with scarlet sails—downstream.

The toy gets away from her, and a strange man claiming to be a poet and a sorcerer catches it before it drifts off to sea. Before returning the sloop to the young girl, he prophesies to her that one day a prince would sail a man-sized version of this scarlet-sailed toy to their coast and call her out by name, rescuing her from misery and marrying her into life happily ever after. When the townsfolk get word of this prophecy, they mock the weirdos from the woods even more than before, and little Asole and her father spend their years in even more quiet seclusion.

All the while and far away in another part of the world is a boy, high-born and wealthy, who dreams only of becoming a sea captain rather than furthering his family’s boring, wealthy legacy. Arthur Grey runs away to sea and, soft boy that he is, spends years hardening himself into a man worthy of captaining his own ship.

Eventually the lives of Asole and Arthur Grey joyfully collide, leaving readers with happy feelings of resolution and vindication and—though the book doesn’t say it—a healthy knowledge that they definitely do live happily ever after. It’s a feel-good book that I didn’t anticipate enjoying as much as I did, and I heartily recommend it.

In fact, I debated about halfway through the book whether or not I should stop reading and start over, this time reading it aloud to my kids. I opted not to, simply because I wanted to continue with the story myself, but looking back, I also think that the kids ought to enjoy this one themselves in their own private reading times.

Thomas P. Whitney’s English translation is spectacular (I’d never have known it was originally written in Russian had it not been posted right there on the cover), yet its almost dreamy vocabulary is best read quietly in the mind. I fear I’d have bumbled my way through the text orally, thereby breaking some of the magic for my kids.

A few lines stood out to me as I read that I think are worth repeating here:

In the course of a day, a person listens to such a multitude of thoughts, impressions, talk, and words, that put together it would constitute more than one fat book. (72)

Of course, he didn’t know her and he didn’t know her name. Nor could he know why she had fallen asleep here in the meadow. But he was satisfied with things as they were. He loved pictures without legends and signatures. The impression was incomparably stronger. Content, unfettered words, become limitless, confirming all guesses, all dreams. (80)

Thanks to her, I have been able to understand one simple truth, that so-called miracles are made with one’s own hands… But there are other miracles: a smile, gladness, forgiveness, and a word which is needed and said in time. To experience them is to possess everything. (144)

I thoroughly enjoyed this book, which is apparently a best-loved classic in Russian literature that’s been recrafted into plays and movies. I think I’d like to look up more stories from Alexander Green (a.k.a. Alexander Stepanovich Grinyevsky), and I hope only that his other stories and novels are as pleasant as this—a bright light from an otherwise cold, dark, and miserable Russian landscape!

©2023 E.T.